


Keys

by vorpal_platypus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen, M/M, although isn't that just canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorpal_platypus/pseuds/vorpal_platypus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s two types of knowledge in the world: the stuff you're taught, and the stuff you learn. Here, have an example. I was taught the names of the three partitions: Maria, Rose, Sina. I was taught they protected us from the dead outside, that in the space between them, everything was washed clean. Nothing that could hurt us could come in. Between every district, between every hot zone: Maria, Rose, Sina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keys

**Author's Note:**

> Includes a grossly self-indulgent Mass Effect reference. Inspired by a reading of World War Z and [these lovely fanarts](http://ekaitz.tumblr.com/post/69446913297/zombie-au-zombie-au-zombie-au) by the equally lovely LMC.

There’s two types of knowledge in the world: the stuff you’re taught, and the stuff you learn. Here, have an example. I was taught the names of the three partitions: Maria, Rose, Sina. I was taught they protected us from the dead outside, that in the space between them, everything was washed clean. Nothing that could hurt us could come in. Between every district, between every hot zone: Maria, Rose, Sina.

But everyone is taught that. You’re taught that, but you’re not taught certain projects will never get funding. You’re not taught there’s no resources to spare for them, no personnel. You’re not taught anything not for the glory of humanity isn’t worthwhile. You’re not taught the walls are a cage.

“Mobilt,” I say as I swirl my test tube, “what do you think of seashells? Once we get to the ocean, I think we should run a few experiments on seashells.”

“Squad Leader, I’m not sure you should be treating the samples so-”

“Carelessly?” I laugh, because Mobilt’s a worrier and because I’ve played with test tubes since I was old enough to crawl. “It’s not as if I’m going to drop it.”

I let it go an inch above the test tube holder, high enough for it to bounce the barest millimeter, but enough to make Mobilt squirm. Mom and Dad would’ve smacked me for being so cavalier about glassware, but it wasn’t going to break, really. Mobilt’s a skittish, panicky thing, but he has a sharp mind, a sharp eye. His sketches always catch something I miss, so he’s usually the one I like manning the microscopes or in the lab with me. I’d love to see him with his own in a few years, when Maria, Rose, Sina are gone and he can research what he likes.

But for now, we wait for Goggles to finish crunching numbers. I walk over to the island, where the petri dishes are and hold a culture up to the light. Dad used to make petri dish art: colorful little trees of fungus, smiling faces made of phage plaques on a lawn of bacteria. He’d sneak one out every week to bring home for me, point at each little patch and watch my eyes grow bright as he told me what they were. Mom wasn’t happy about it, always concerned about contamination, but it’s not like he grew them in the hot zones where we handled zombie tissue. Mom wasn’t particularly interested in microbiology anyways; she had her own squad, dedicated to making and testing weapons.

My mother was less than happy when I decided to follow my dad. A hopeless dreamer, she called him, chasing ghosts and miracles in his little cell cultures. She never gave the idea of a cure any time she could’ve spent with her blueprints and her prototypes. Their marriage had been a happy one, I thought, because mothers and fathers are supposed to be together. Later, she started calling him her beautiful fool too, and every time she said it, it sounded the slightest bit colder, a touch further away. In retrospect, I should have known they’d divorce.

I was walking home from school once, and this Wallist was raving in the streets. Nutters, the lot of them, always talking about the blessing that were the walls, how they shelter this utopia from the scourge beyond. In the past, that Wallist said, people went hungry for lack of work, but now everyone has a job to do and a rightful place in this ordered world. I knew I’d be Scouting Legion when I grew up, research sub-branch. I had the scores, the heritage, the mind for it. My rightful place, as it were.

The terminal beeps, and Mobilt goes to check it. The computer room is located in a different wing, and all communication between hot zones and elsewhere is done through an electronic screen. I suppose there’s a joke to be had here or a lesson to be learned. For all I complain about cages, I willingly march into one every day.

“The results are in.”

“And? What did Goggles say?”

“You shouldn’t call him that,” Mobilt says. “The nickname is mean.”

I shrug. Dead zombies are easy to come by, so personnel who end up in places like my squad usually handle more than just a few of them. I’d been cutting one open when my scalpel got caught on a particularly tough tendon, and when I wrenched it free, I’d accidentally splattered Goggles in the face with zombie guts. There was no risk, really, none at all. Anyone handling zombie tissue the way we were is required to wear a full body hazmat suit, but Goggles, bless his heart, freaked and now wears a pair of them whenever he’s on base. The nickname stuck.

“Go on,” I say, “what were the results?”

“Not statistically significant.” The corner of Mobilt’s lip twitches in a grimace.

“Hmm.” I remember when Mobilt was a fresh face on the squad. It was kinda cute to watch his face fall whenever tests came back negative, but now he’s as numb as the rest of us.

“That’s alright. We’ll just have to find another way.” Just like Dad used to say. Another project proposal to draft, another one to defend, another one to execute with even less money for the same exact results. My excitement is palpable.

“I guess we’re done-”

The terminal flashes again, a video call this time. I walk over to respond.

“Squad Leader Hanji.”

I’ve heard this voice a few times, seen this face on a state broadcast more than once, but it’s never been directed towards me personally. Levi. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. I never thought I’d actually meet him.

“Yes? That’s me. Sir.”

“Good, you’re here. Don’t need formalities. We found something last excursion you’d be interested in. I’m here to escort you to where he’s being held.”

 _He?_ If I look confused, I hope Levi doesn’t notice. “Understood. I’ll be out as soon as I decontaminate.”

Levi hums. “I understand. I’ll be waiting waiting outside.” The screen goes black.

“Well,” I say, moving towards the exit. “This is _different_. We’re done for the day, Mobilt. Let’s get cleaned and get outta here.”

The partition, Sina, swishes open, all three inch thick steel of it. After Mobilt steps in behind me, it whooshes shut. I squint my eyes shut as the UV and heat lamps flare, and a spray of disinfectant hits me in the chest as the floor slides open to reveal the drain. Eyes still closed, I scrub the rubber soles of my hazmat suit against the floor and rub the disinfectant into my gloves. After a few minutes, it shuts off and switches to water. I exhale slowly, listening to the water beat against the hard plastic of my helmet.

There’s a beep to say it’s over, that it’s safe for us to strip out of our suits now. A portion of the wall slides open to reveal chute for us to dump them down, so we strip then walk through Rose. We’re washed again, only naked this time. I tilt my head back to let the liquid run over my face, and maybe, if I forget to breathe so I don’t smell it, I can pretend I’m in the shower at home.

After, we step into an alcove blocked off and kept dry with a plastic barrier to dress. There’s cubbies stuffed with vacuum sealed uniforms, and I pull out one in my size. While technically against regulation, I kept a hair tie around my wrist. If the hazmat suit and the disinfectant bath wasn’t enough, I doubt anything would be, so I use it to put up my hair. It’s a mess that my mom never managed to tame no matter what she put in it.

Maria slides open to reveal Levi had been waiting for me, literally right outside, the entire time. I tug at my damp ponytail in embarrassment.

“Apologies for keeping you, sir.”

Levi was leaning against the wall, weight shifted to one leg with his arms crossed and eyes closed. He cracks one open before blinking them open.

“Don’t call me sir, and it’s fine. I know how long decontamination takes. Come on,” he says, motioning for me to follow him as he walks away, his steps unexpectedly quick and long for his stature. “We have a long way to go. Just you, not him.”

Mobilt blinks in confusion, so I step in. “Go home and rest up, Mobilt. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say before hurrying to catch up.

“If I may ask a question?”

Levi grunts, turning a sharp corner and not slowing his step.

“Where are we going?”

“Detention bay. Next?”

“Are you allowed to disclose whatever this something is, or will it have to wait until later?”

“Wait until we get there,” he says, eyes flicking to one of the security cameras.

Very serious and _very_ classified then. What _had_ happened out there? For all my involvement in the Scouting Legion, I’m not privy to information regarding excursions. It’s all classified beyond my jurisdiction, irrelevant to my research. Another wall.

Levi holds the car door open for me. It’s a humvee with the windows tinted black, and as I buckle myself in, I can’t help but grow uneasy.

“Relax,” Levi says, shifting to get comfortable in his seat and neglecting to buckle himself in. He crosses his arms, and one leg over the other. “You’re not in any trouble. Just the opposite, I think.” He quirks his lips in an almost smile. A joke I’m not entitled to until later, I suppose.

Levi is a smaller man than I expected. In the propaganda videos, he always seemed so much larger, but the thought now makes me feel a bit foolish. After all, what else is propaganda for? Levi is short, but his uniform stretches tight across his torso, his biceps, his neck, almost like he’s bulging from it.

He’s bald, like all scouts who venture outside the walls. It’s regulation. Officially, it’s a preventative measure. Biohazardous material could be lodged in hair, and a study funded by the Reiss family indicated that zombie tissue could potentially remain infectious even after decontamination. Unofficially, the Reiss family has been in bed with the Wallists for years. The baldness is a brand, a sign of filth and sin.

I run my fingers through a strand of my hair. I wanted to cut it short when I joined up with the Legion. It always took so long to dry, but my mother had always loved my lion’s mane, buying me sweetly scented detangling oils and brushing them into my tangles. After she left, I didn’t have the heart to cut it.

Most scouts buy wigs to wear when they return from beyond the walls, to pass as another person in the street. Amongst the wealthy and the nobility, long and lustrous hair is prized, and to them, the poor sell their hair for food, and then, they too are branded as vermin.

But Levi. Levi doesn’t bother with a wig. There’s a series of inky tendrils curling sharp and stark against the pallor of his skin. The tattoos peek out from under his sleeve, out from his collar to cover his scalp, all the way down to his hairline. It’s mockery, and the day the needle pierced Levi’s skin, it left ink, but contempt and hatred too, all simmering beneath the surface, kept just from boiling by his uniform.

No one really knows where Levi came from, what his last name is. The rumor mill runs more than a bit wild with him, but he’s Commander Smith’s notorious pet project. There’s rumors about that too, and unfortunately, I’m not good enough a person not to ask.

“So,” I begin, and Levi directs his gaze at me. His eyes, already narrow, make his scrutiny particularly uncomfortable. “About you and Commander Smith….”

“Yeah? What about us?” He raises a thin eyebrow and smiles.

“Nevermind. That was inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

The smile was all the confirmation I needed. I still ask myself what I was thinking to ask a question like that. If I wanted to gossip about Levi, I should just talk to Keiji. He was one of my mother’s proteges and has since replaced her. A place on Levi’s squad is one of dubious prestige. They’re the combative elite of the excursionary branch; they get all the shiniest toys; they serve directly under Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. They also get the riskiest missions, including the field testing of whatever thing Keiji’s cooked up. Besides Levi’s own squad or Commander Smith, no one else works closer with him than Keiji.

The humvee comes to a stop, and Levi hops down first to hold the door open. A sudden gust from a descending helicopter blows my hair into my face and forces Levi deeper into his uniform jacket.

“This way,” he says, swerving to the left with his shoulders hunched.

My brow furrows as he punches in the passcode. This building is for quislings, biologically healthy humans that have cracked, stockholmed into thinking they were zombies themselves, like that would save them. There used to be a research team dedicated to their rehabilitation, but that’s been axed. Now, they’re just kept here to rot. The military police sweeps the population regularly for new ones to lock up. I don’t like thinking about what kinds of undesirables they keep in the other buildings.

Levi swipes his ID card in the elevator’s entry pad, punches in a floor, and we start descending.

“What do you know about humans outside the walls?”

“Not much. I’m afraid there isn’t much information circulating about them.”

Levi snorts. “You can drop the playing dumb act around me, you know. I know you think shit’s been kept from you because it is.”

He steps out of the elevator and leads me down the winding hallways. “There’s still people out there, little patches here and there that have survived and are still surviving. Sometimes, we run into fucking crazies that can’t handle the idea there’s still other people out there. We put those ones down. We put the bitten ones down too.”

“If it’s a small group, we bring ‘em in. They’re on the record, but it’s kept real quiet or else people will start rioting. They all end up shaved and in the Legion.” He pauses, and for that moment, I am left to wonder. “Don’t see what’s the point of bringing them in only to keep sending them out, but whatever.”

“Anyways,” he continues. “There’s people out there. Big communities? That when we bring out the big guns, sending out an actual army instead of the tiny ass squads we usually do, but we haven’t done that in years. I was out with mine and a couple others a few days back, and we found a small pocket of survivors. Just three of them. One of them had a bite.”

“I presume you didn’t.” I swallow, the words catching in my throat. “Put them down?”

“No. I didn’t. I inspected the bite, and. It was healing.” He unlocks the door to an observation room, as my eyes widen.

“You can’t be serious. This can’t be. This can’t be real. Do you know what-”

“I know what this means. Trust me, we all do. That’s why we’ve kept him under observation to confirm that. No symptoms, perfectly healthy. The bite’s even going to heal without a scar.” Levi hits the switch to turn on the light as I walk towards the observation window.

“Squad Leader Hanji Zoe, meet Eren Jaeger.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are encouraged and appreciated!


End file.
